


You Can't Bottle It Up

by WhumpTown



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Tumblr AskMalcolm/Dani-light angst
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 69





	You Can't Bottle It Up

She was there. It was her hands that pressed into the wound on his left side, dodging his weak blows. Her hands that grabbed him by the head, shouting obscenities, and finally, finally breaking him free of the chaos in his mind. To ground him to them.

It was her name on his lips. Weakly reaching out to touch her, tears in his eyes.

She hasn’t talked to him since. She didn’t see him in the hospital. Never bothered to call or even text him. Didn’t stop by Gil’s house when Malcolm was sleeping there. The night terrors, Gil clarified sometime later. Telling her in too many details about Malcolm, his state of mind. The bruises up and down his arms. In his brain.

“He’s gone a little…” the beat cop in the corner lowers his voice. At least he knows better than to shout his opinion. That’s not to say, his comment doesn’t sting. “American Psycho?” The comment earns him an immediate round of chuckles, a couple of older cops at least having the sense to look away and dissociate themselves. 

Dani shakes the comments off. Trying to think past that Christian Bale blank stare. The madness in those eyes, a not unique enough parallel to panic in Malcolm’s. When she held his hands to her chest. His blood smeared between them. She tries not to think about it.

Malcolm can’t stop.

“E-Excuse-Excuse me.” His injured right hand is cradled to his chest. That panic, that look, smacked across his face. Christian Bale, her mind helpful adds. He looks like Christian Bale at the end of American Psycho. Sweaty and shakey. 

He still won’t tell them why his hand is crushed. Why Paul smiles every time they ask him, always telling them the same thing: _“why don’t you ask your pretty boy?”_

Malcolm trips over himself and she can see how it drives him a little closer to publically losing it. Gil says he hasn’t gone back to therapy. Gil asks her, begs her rather, to talk to him. To say something. She can’t even look at him. Malcolm doesn’t look at her either.

Malcolm stumbles, nearly falling. He throws the men’s bathroom door open, it clatters shut loudly. All eyes on the door, her face heats up with the swirl of anxiety in her stomach. Gil’s door opens and she looks up at him. Expecting something more than just the equal amount of shock and confusion she’s feeling.

That is until his eyes find Malcolm’s empty desk. “Bright-”

“I’ve got it.” She’s not sure where the sudden confidence comes from but she’s standing. She doesn’t even wait for her words to sink in, she just goes to the door. When she pushes it, the door doesn’t swing open. She glances at Gil before picking the lock. Rather, she takes her credit card out and jimmies it between the door and lock. This time, it swings open without so much as a hitch.

Gil raises an eyebrow but Dani picking a lock is not an argument or even a conversation he wants to have. 

Dani shuts the door behind her. Closing herself in with Malcolm. 

“F-Fuck!” He’s breathless, chest heaving his thin shoulders up to ears. His hands fail at pulling his tie away from his neck. She cringes each time his nails dig into his flesh, missing that tie, that knot. He lets out a panicked shout, falling back against the wall closest to him. He slides down the wall. Each breath a little shaky.

When his hands go back up, back to his red neck and blood-red tie, she stops him. “Hey,” she pushes his hands down. Pushes them away until he lets out a trembling gasp. Her fingers find the soft, angry flesh of his neck. Brushing aside a small red drop of blood with her thumb as she pulls the tie’s knot free. “You can’t keep it all inside, you know?”

He’s trembling under her fingers. 

She struggles with the tiny button just underneath the tie. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he opens his mouth for more air and when he can’t he reaches out. His fingers get caught against her shirt. Thin, shakey fingers wrap around her wrist. His eyes are glued on hers, taking in every word. 

“Did you hear me,” she asks pressing her hand against his neck as she peels the sweat-soaked collar from his skin. He jerks his head, eyes pressing shut. She hums and lets her hands drop to her own lap. Malcolm’s breath sounding more even, healthy.

“I said,” she brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You can’t keep it all inside. Bottling it up won’t do any good.”

Malcolm nods sharply, his right hand coming back to his chest. He grimaces, dragging his knuckles into his sternum. She catches his hand, he winces at the sharp pain that causes. He lets his head fall back against the wall, a hard thud sounding out. 

“Malcolm?”

He peels his eyes open, looking right at her.

She reaches across them. Slowly. The small movement scares him but she’s careful. She scoots closer, his hands in hers. 

“Your hands are cold,” he still leans into her touch. The hand she wraps around the back of his neck soothes the nerves wracking his hands. She pulls him closer until they’re hugging. He sinks into the touch. “Why-Why are your hands always so cold?”

She shrugs and he doesn’t seem to mind the uncertainty. “Are you okay now?”

This time he shrugs,” I’m-I’m always okay.”

“100%?”

He smiles,” yeah. I’m 100%.”

Dani pulls away from the hug. She drops his hands, thumb grazing over the right one. She wonders how bad it looked in the hospital.

“D-Dani?”

She looks over at him, her back now against the wall just like his.

“Can we stay-stay here a little longer?”

She takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “As long as you want.”


End file.
